


A Great Potential

by GayerThanATreeFullOfMonkeys



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ballet, Dubious Morality, Eating Disorders, Forced Feminization, M/M, Non Consensual, Obsessive Behaviour, Stalking, Underage Sex, this is fucked up i am so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayerThanATreeFullOfMonkeys/pseuds/GayerThanATreeFullOfMonkeys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His feet have never been so sore.<br/>But he is surrounded by lovely light colors and music that fills his mind.<br/>Alastair tells him that he has potential.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Great Potential

It had been Mary that had first introduced Dean to dance.

They had gone to his best friend Jo's dance recital and Dean had leaned forward in his seat, dress shirt crumpling around his shoulders as he rested his arms on thin knees. His eyes were wide and he didn't speak a word for the whole recital. He could only stare at the swirl of white and pale pink skirts and the delicate limbs that glided through the air. The sounds of classical music filled his ears and he wondered how he could have ever enjoyed dad's loud rock when there was music like this in the world.

After the show Mary had been talking to Ellen when Dean spotted Jo, He grinned and ran up to her, staring enviously at the curl of her blonde hair and the way the pale colors brought out the color in her eyes and cheeks. "That was amazing Jo!" He said loudly, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning back on his heels as he grinned at her. "I thought you didn't like girly things!"

Jo shot him a glare and wiped some pink gloss off of her lips with an impatient hand, opening her mouth to retort when an authoritative voice stopped her cold.

"Now, now Jo dear, let's not be uncouth." A man said, a heavy hand settling on the girl's slim shoulder.

"Sorry sir" Jo said, eyes lowered in a way that strange to Dean.

The man's oddly colored eyes found Dean and pinned him to the spot. "Hello, are you a friend's of Jo's?"

Dean somehow found it in him to force his lips into a smile and he blinked up at the man, noting that the man was smirking at him the way dad did when he was drunk. "Yes sir, m'names Dean Winchester."

The man's smirk grows slightly on one side and he tilts his head, looks like he's thinking. "And did you enjoy the show Dean Winchester?"

"Oh yeah, it was amazing!"

The man removes his hand from Jo's shoulder and Dean doesn't notices how relieved Jo looks to be free of the weight. "Point out your parent or guardian for me Deano."

Dean immediately points at Mary and the man goes off to talk to her.

All the way home Mary and Dean talk about the possibility of a summer long dance camp.

Dean had never been so excited before.

All he can do is think about are those thin limbs and pale skirts gliding across a stage, jumping and bounding as the swells of the music urges them along.

Dad doesn't like it.

He argues with mom for what seems like hours.

Dean waits, huddled on the stairs, just out of sight, examining his arms and ankles and thinking that they did not look thin enough. He can hear fragments of sentences coming from the kitchen where his parents argue and even if he doesn't understand some of the words they still make his throat clench up in anticipation.

"I won't have him become some faggot!"

"John!"

"No, Mary, I won't do it."

"Honey, it's something he wants to do"

"I don't care about that"

"He'll be gone all summer, you're always saying that you want him to go out and get a hobby."

"I didn't mean fucking prancing around in tights!"

He falls asleep after that.

Mom must have carried him up to bed because when he wakes up its wrapped in his batman blanket and Mary is stroking his hair, a soft but determined look in her tired eyes. "I packed you a suitcase baby, you're going to go to that dance camp."

For a sudden, terrifying second he almost doesn't want to go, he doesn't want to leave his mom and dad and baby Sammy. But then he hears that beautiful music again and his feet twitch and all he wants is to wear those silky shoes.

Dance camp isn't what he expected.

It's better.

They stretch and are taught how to twirl in a large room full of mirrors. The man, who Dean later learns is named Alastair stands at the front and directs them with a sharp click of his tongue and a "One, two, three, four"

His feet have never been so sore.

But he is surrounded by lovely light colors and music that fills his mind.

Alastair tells him that he has potential.

Within a week he is spending half of the day with the man having private lessons.

Alastair tells him that since he runs the camp he's allowed to pick special students to work with.

His feet have never been so sore.

Alastair tells him that he needs to stop eating certain foods if he wants to get as pretty as the adult dancers.

Sometimes he longs for his mother's cooking but those cravings get less and less every day.

He makes friends at camp, A girl named Lisa and a boy named Cas. They both have black hair and pale skin so they are always paired together for recitals. Alastair calls them his "Snow White twins" but Cas tells Dean that he doesn't like dancing and that he had been homesick all summer.

When Dean tells Alastair this the teacher smiles and pats him on the cheek, clicking his tongue lightly as Dean slumps over, and tells him that "He's just not as committed as you are my boy, none of them are."

Dean spends hours in that small room with Alastair and after a while he starts to forget about how he had once looked up at Dad and Uncle Bobby with that same paternal admiration. He doesn't forget mom though. She's the one that made this all possible.

He starts to realize that something may not be normal when Meg, one of the camp counselors and assistant dance teachers pulls Dean aside as he is walking to Alastair's rooms for class. "Dean, you know that if something ever happens that scares you or that you don't like you can tell me right?"

He doesn't understand what she means or why she looks so concerned but he sees the curtain of her dark hair swinging around her thin shoulders and wishes that he could be so beautiful.

After the lesson he asks Alastair if he could have hair like Meg's.

The man laughs and runs a hand through his short, dark blonde hair. "No baby, your parents wouldn't like that."

The sound of a piano is playing faintly in the distance and Dean can feel himself being pulled away by the waves of the music.

Large, pleading eyes, because he knows how to get his way with adults and especially Alastair. "Please?"

A quiet, creeping laugh that moves like a spider along Dean's spine. "Maybe a little longer would be alright."

Some of the other kids begin to tease him. The older boys say that he looks like a girl and they use that word he hears dad say sometimes, the word that mom doesn't like. Cas tells him not to listen. Lisa tells him that they're just being dumb. He doesn't understand why they think that those boys could hut his feelings.

He wishes that Jo had come to camp with him but she had said that "dancing stopped being fun".

He doesn't understand what she meant by that. How could something so amazing ever stop being fun?

Meg watches him closely these days and tells him to eat more.

Alastair watches him closer and tells him that he will only ever be great if he works at it.

He is being taught how to move perfectly and already Dean can feel himself gliding as he walks. He can spin on cue and does, often. When he is brushing his teeth he rests a leg the on the edge of the sink and imagines how pleased mother will be when she sees how far he's come. After all, Alastair is pleased, and Alastair is never pleased with the other students. Dean is the only one that he ever whispers praise to, he's the only one that gets to have so many private lessons.

He's "special".

That's why he has to keep it a secret. That's what Alastair tells him. That the soft touches and the kisses need to be a secret.

"The others wouldn't understand Dean. That's why I picked you, because you're different, so smart and lovely, you understand don't you my boy?"

He nods. "Yes sir"

Alastair grin reminds Dean of the big bad wolf in the book of fairy tales that mom used to read to him. The man moves closer, taking his wrist and holding it up to the light. "You're almost thin enough darling boy. Make sure not to eat breakfast tomorrow."

"Yes sir" He whispers, he's found that Alastair likes it better when he whispers and Dean begins talking so quietly that his friends have to lean close to hear him and Meg's urging to "speak up" do not help.

He realizes very quickly that doing all these things, eating small amounts, speaking softly, letting Alastair move his hands like he's a puppet, makes his teacher smile widely and his eyes sparkle and Dean resolves to do anything he can to make the man happy. It is him after all that is making Dean beautiful, it is him that is making his feet light and his wrists delicate. It is all because of Alastair that he can move in time to any type of music and rise up on his toes for longer than any of the other kids.

He thinks that maybe Alastair knows about how much he likes the music, how the sound of pianos and violins and instruments he doesn't know the names of make him feel like he is floating above himself, because when he comes in for private lessons the music is loud and it fills his ears.

He feels like he is floating on his back in the middle of the ocean, the salt filling his senses and he can barely hear Alastair telling him to "be very still" and he doesn't feel anything except a hand on his mouth and he can't see anything except Alastair's grin.

That's good, he's made Alastair smile, he must be doing something right. "Shush baby, you're doing fine." But he isn't making any noise is he? Dean can't tell, the swell of the music is to much and tears come to his eyes and he is instantly angry at himself.

Alastair does not like tears. They are a sign of weakness.

But this time his teacher just brushes them away and whispers something in Dean's ear that he cannot hear. He wishes he could hear, he is starting to get scared and he wants to cry out for his mom or Meg but Alastair's hand is on his mouth and Dean realizes that there was a reason for that hand as a sudden burst of pain shocks him back into reality.

He learns that day that Alastair does not like screams anymore than he likes tears.

That does not stop him from shrieking into his teacher's hand and crying for longer than he has in years.

When the tears finally stop flowing he is handed a wet towel and is told to clean himself and Alastair tell him that he "did beautifully, darling boy".

At the final recital of the summer Dean dances better than everyone there.

His mom is in the front row and she claps louder than every parent.

She hugs Dean and tells him that he "did beautifully".

Alastair smirks and ruffles Dean's hair and tells Mary that "he has a lot of raw talent, he ought to join my dance studio."

Dean never goes to the dance studio.

John gets angry about the dancing and how thin and "girly" his eldest looked and banned it.

Mary shook her head and was getting ready to argue but Sam started crying and she had to rush off to take care of him.

It isn't until a year later, when Dean is 9 and Sammy is 4 and Mary and John get divorced and they move to a new town that Mary takes him to a dance studio.

It isn't Alastair's and Dean misses the smell of candles and summer. But the instructor is young and she's pretty and nice and doesn't want him to dance until he is on the verge of fainting.

By the time Dean is 13 he understands that summer when he was 8 for what it really was and he flushes with embarrassment and humiliation and refuses to even consider telling Mary.

In his dreams he hears that drawling voice telling him he "did beautifully" and calling him "baby" and "darling boy".

When he's 15 he jerks off to the memory of the word "baby" and he wonders how old Alastair is. He starts to hate himself as he remembers the way he had been so pliant and manipulated. He despises himself for getting off on the thought of it. He gains no pleasure from the act and blushes every time someone asks him if he is feeling alright.

When he's 16 he burns his skin with dad's old lighter and almost wants to see Alastair's reaction to the ugly burn marring his skin.

He hopes that he would have hated it.

At 17 he gets a scholarship to dance in New York.

He wonders if there he can fill his head with enough memories to forget a long summer filled with hazy days and rooms with mirrors.

Dean makes friends there, in New York, and for a while he thinks that maybe he can put his past behind him. But every time he hears classical music begin to play he flinches.

He is going to preform in the end of the year play. He is the male lead.

He has never been so good before and in the mirror he tells himself that he will do "beautifully".

Sam is coming up to see him and Dean had never realized just how large his baby brother is, how tall and broad, so much like dad. Or maybe Dean is just still so small, still so thin and always trying to get thinner. It was hard to kill the habit of eating as little as was humanly possible.

But Sam hugged him delicately, like he was worried that he would break his brother if he pressed down to hard. Dean wanted to laugh at that. Sammy had no idea just how much pain he could withstand. The proof was in his bruised feet and bent toes and in the old burns on his arms. If he could listen to pianos every day while standing in a room filled with mirrors than he could do anything.

Or at least he thought he could.

An hour before his big performance a bouquet of flowers is at his makeup station.

He glances up at Chuck, the nervous assistant that couldn't stop blushing at the sight of girls half in their costumes. "Who are these from?" He asks, looking at the small bundle oddly, there are only 5 flowers, and it was such a weird assortment...

"No idea, your brother said that they had been at the door with a note for you when he left the apartment." Chuck says gesturing at the note attached before shrugging and walking away.

Dean picks up the bundle, pulling out his phone and quickly pulling up Google.

There was a daisy, a forget-me-not, a Queen Ann's lace, a rhododendron and a coriander.

Dean bit at his lip as he quickly typed the names into his phone, feeling fear unfurl in his stomach.

Innocence, remember me, delicate femininity, beware, lust.

Dean felt like he was going to be sick.

With shaking fingers he opened the note and read that still familiar hand.

He knew exactly how tightly those fingers had wrapped around a pen, they had all to often wrapped around Dean's wrist or tugged at his hair.

_I'm sure you will do beautifully my darling boy._

No name but it's not like he needed one.

Dean glanced up at the mirror, seeing tears swimming in his eyes, but Alastair hated tears, just as much as he hated screams.

He looked at his large eyes, still so childlike in his thin face. His full lips that Alastair had pulled apart and knew that he was not who he was supposed to be.

He had seen photos of himself from pre-dance.

He had been strong, sturdy looking with a rough grin and bright eyes.

A boy.

The boy his father had wanted him to be.

Now he had been taken apart and put back together to be some small and breakable play thing.

Dean held up an arm and stared at his wrist, so thin....all he had ever wanted was to be so thin and lovely. He looked at his hair, blonder now because of abuse of the New York summer. He was not himself. And yet he had wanted this, had wanted it so badly.

Hadn't he?

Dean looked back at the note and heard the swell of old music coming back to him.

He felt like he was in the ocean again but this time he was not floating, he was sinking.

_You'll do beautifully._

_My darling boy._

Dean stared at himself in the mirror, breathing in and out as slowly and calmly as he could. Eventually he could recognize himself again. Eventually he could look at the note and not break down.

He knew that Alastair would be in the audience.

Of course he would, how could Dean have ever expected anything different?

How had he ever thought that he was free?

He was such an idiot.

He would do beautifully.

Did he really have a choice?

_My darling boy._

There was never a choice.

Dean met his own eyes in the mirror and wished he was on the other side of that glass. He could feel his reflection gazing at him sympathetically. They nodded at each other.

He would do _beautifully_.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired partially by a fic a read about Alastair as a creepy ballet teacher and partially by the song "Lonesome Organist" By the Dresden Dolls.  
> I own nothing.
> 
> EDIT: I now have a fandom blog!! Come talk to me at crossroadsbela.tumblr.com!! I'd love to hear from you guys!


End file.
